


Winchestered

by more_than_words



Series: Winchestered [1]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3316322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/more_than_words/pseuds/more_than_words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine the Winchesters meeting their match against a pair of hunters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is an on-going series that I've been writing over the past couple of months entitled "Winchestered."

_Breathe in…now out…breathe in…_

I calmed myself as I crept up the stairs of the old abandoned house. Willing the stairs not to creak, I gingerly stepped only on the edges. I held my gun at arms length, pointed at the ground, with my index finger hovering apprehensively over the trigger. My partner, Reed, followed close behind me as I approached the first bedroom door on the right. Pressing our backs against either side of the door, we stood for moment, listening.  
  
The solid wood door, separating Reed and me from the two figures we saw slink into the house earlier, withheld most of the noise that was coming from within the bedroom. However, the distinct sound of hushed murmurs slipped through the crack where the door didn’t quite touch the ground. The first voice sounded deep and gruff, like the engine of an old car, while the second voice sounded like personified stress; slightly higher and more tense. The subject of their conversation was unknown. Not that I cared anyway. Right now they were interfering and they needed to leave right now.  
  
I looked over at Reed, who was already staring intently at me. It was hard to see him, his features melded into the shadows almost perfectly, but I could make out the outline of his face and his fingers as he mouthed that we were to go on three. He lowered his hand over his gun and began to count down.  
1…he mouthed. My muscles tensed, ready for action.  
2…. Reed poised his hand over the doorknob. I cocked my gun. Breath in…  
3\. With one swift motion, Reed jerked open the door and I shoved my gun inside, barging in with it raised in front of me. The two men, who were sitting on the floor, turned and jolted up at the sudden sound, reaching for what I assumed were concealed weapons.  
  
"Freeze!" I yelled, my voice sounding larger than it really was as it reverberated through the empty house. Reed trailed close behind me and stepped so that he was on my left side. Both our guns were aimed at both of their heads- mine at the taller one’s mop of shaggy hair and Reed’s at the shorter one’s grimace.  
  
"Wait a second!" the taller one objected, reaching for his back pocket. "It’s alright, we’re-"  
  
"I believe she said ‘freeze!’" Reed said deeply, eyeing the taller one suspiciously. "Either you don’t know what it means or you’re just ignoring her. Either way, you’re stupid."  
  
"Hold it there, Sonny and Cher!" the shorter one blurted in his gravelly voice. "We’re with the FBI. So go ahead and put the guns down or we’ll charge you for detaining federal agents." He smirked, putting on his best tough guy face, as if he didn’t care that we had guns, he would still take us on. I was slightly taken aback by the sudden reference to pop culture in this altercation. It was an interesting remark; I was taller than Reed by a couple of inches with dark hair and tan skin. However, Reed looked nothing like Sonny, being stocky and muscular with curly blonde hair. I laughed, honoring his attempt at a joke. But the noise came out hollow and scoffing.  
  
"Funny," I intoned. Reed and I both reached in our pockets, pulling out our badges and holding them up for the two to see. "We’re the feds too." It was my turn to smirk, watching the shorter ones face fall and the taller ones eyes dart nervously between Reed and I. "Now, why don’t you two tell us who you really are?" I scanned the spot where they had been sitting just moments before. An LED lantern sat in the middle of a scattered mess of papers. Yellowed and brittle looking, they appeared to have old script scrawled across them or different shapes. Could those be maps of the house?  
  
"And," I added, getting even more suspicious of these two by the minute, "enlighten us as to why you have those papers. They look ancient." The shorter of the two shifted his weight backwards as if to protect the papers, looking as if he would try and fight us with or without a gun. Possible jobs that required maps and floor plans flitted through my mind, but none seemed to fit the profile of these two. Except a something that was a little far-fetched. Could they be…?  
  
"Fine," the taller one said, raising his eyebrows, his voice heavy-laden with sass. "My name is John Wilson and this is Peter Smith. I’m an architect and he is the contractor with the local construction company." There was no way those were their real names or occupations, but I didn’t intervene. I let them spin their lie.  
  
"0kay," Reed said slowly. "Then why are you here so late?"  
  
"Well, technically," the guy with the short hair, Peter, said from the side of his mouth, shrugging. "We’re in a bidding war with another company at the moment, so we don’t _technically_ own this place yet.”  
  
"So you’re trespassing?" I asserted, stitching together what they weren’t saying. I raised on eyebrow, still not convinced.  
  
"Psh," the shorter one sort of snorted, grinning as if her were in pain. "Of course not!" The taller one swayed nervously. It was Reed and my’s turn to exchange a look. I could tell that he thought their story was complete BS too and without a word, he stealthily pulled out his handcuffs. I pressed my own into the palm of his hand as well.  
  
"We’re going to have to take you guys in for trespassing on private property and interrupting a federal investigation," Reed declared, approaching the shorter one cautiously, handcuffs at the ready. I kept my gun  trained on the taller one, just in case he decided to try anything funny. Stretch furrowed his brow, but watched placidly as Reed pulled his partner’s hands behind his back and clapped handcuffs around his wrists. Reed shoved Tough Guy, or T.G., in my direction and I placed my hand firmly on his elbow, not taking my eyes off of Stretch.  
  
"No need to be so rough," T.G. muttered. Just for that, I dug my fingernails into his jacket until I felt skin and continued to squeeze. He winced and glared at me. “Fine,” he hissed quietly. Before I knew it, his foot connected with my knee. I yelped and crumpled to the ground, the gun falling from my hand. TG lunged for it, but I grabbed hold of his foot and pulled him back, sort of making him faceplant. He groaned and I smirked with satisfaction. We were about the same height, but he was stronger and I was faster. I rolled over on him, trying to get hold of him to pin his arms. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Reed tussling with Stretch and fairing pretty well. My stupid moment of distraction earned me a swift punch to the jaw, making my vision speckle with black splotches. He used this to his advantage and shoved me off of him and tried to pin me down, but I rolled out from under him. I kicked him with the force of a mule right in the ribcage with my good leg. He rolled onto his right side and held the other, yelling with pain while I snatched my gun. Before  he could turn to fight back again, I whalloped him with the butt of my gun on the side of his head. TG slumped to the wood floor, knocked out cold. I was tempted to throw up a fist pump of triumph, but unfortunately I didn’t think that would be professional.  
  
Reed and Stretch were still scuffling close by, but it looked like my partner wasn’t doing so well. Stretch flipped him on to his back, crawled on top of him and cuffed his wrists with my pair of handcuffs. He reached to grab Reed’s gun from his pocket, but froze when he felt the end of my gun pressed into his temple. I cocked it, the sound a loud warning inside his ear.  
  
"I swear I will blow your brains out," I said convincingly, dropping my voice low to sound more menacing. It seemed to work, as Stretch didn't move at all. With one hand, I reached inside my pocket and drew out the keys to my handcuffs. "Unlock him," I commanded, holding out the keys to the large man. Stretch complied reluctantly and soon Reed wriggled out from underneath the giant man. My partner stood up and adjusted his clothing back to how it was supposed to look. He glanced at the guy lying on the floor behind me.  
  
"You didn’t kill him, did you?" Reed asked warily. Stretch visibly flinched at the thought. It was completely obvious that these two were not merely acquaintances on a business project who knew how to fight well. I shook my head.  
  
"Just knocked him out," I replied, clapping my hand down on to Stretch’s shoulder. "Now," I murmured in a chiding tone, "if you’re done causing trouble, would you mind carrying your partner down to the car with Reed for me." He looked at me, his eyes filled with indecision, anxiety and anger, all at one time. "Please? He’ll only be out for about 15 minutes maybe less, but his head will hurt like crazy for a while after that." Stretch looked at his partner for a long time, then nodded quietly.  
  
"Good!" I exclaimed, glad for his cooperation. I liked him and I didn’t want to have to hurt him just because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He seemed like a good guy.  
  
Reed and Stretch carried the unconscious TG down to our car around the back of the house. I followed close behind, gun at the ready at all times, but not aimed. I wanted to trust this guy. We put TG in the back seat and had Stretch sit next to him. I saw worry play across his face as the 15 minute mark passed and his partner still wasn’t stirring.  
  
"Don’t worry," I consoled him. "I didn’t hit him that hard." With that I slammed his door and climbed into the passenger side. Tonight’s mission had been compromised by these two, so we’d have to head back to the motel.  
  
Reed clambered in behind the wheel and gave me a concerned look. I know what that look meant without him even saying anything. He wanted to know what on earth we were going to do with these yahoos once we got back to the room. Especially since we aren’t FBI agents.


	2. Winchestered (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunter and her partner try and find out who this mysterious pair is that they've picked up.

TG woke up about five minutes away from the motel. He sat up rapidly in the back seat and then, instantly regretting it, collapsed sideways against the window with a groan. It was a clumsy awakening, to say the least.

“Nnngh,” he moaned unintelligibly. He opened an eye slowly, observing Reed and I in the front seat of our Subaru forester and his partner beside him in handcuffs. “What the hell?”

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Reed said loudly with a smirk, glancing at the duo in the rearview mirror. “Glad to see my partner didn’t bust your noggin hard enough to do any permanent damage.” TG just sat up slowly and then inhaled sharply, holding his side.

“But I could have quite possibly broken some of your ribs,” I added quietly. Stretch watched his partner warily, taking in everything without saying a word. Maybe the big guy was in shock. Being an architect, or whatever he was, didn’t leave much room for adventure such as this.  
TG lay his head back against his headrest and squinted at the roof of the car. He was obviously suffering the discomfort of bruised ribs and a broken ego, and I kind of felt bad for kicking his ass. Kind of.

“This thing sure is a piece of crap,” TG observed, grogginess lingering on his words. “Gotta love that government pension.” Nope, nevermind.

“Well, if I’d known you’d have cared, I’d have hauled your unconscious ass back to the motel in a mini-van,” Reed retorted. I stifled a laugh and caught the corners of Stretch’s mouth twitch in amusement.

A painful silence ensued, no one willing or wanting to say anything. I sneaked glances at the two every once in awhile (they seemed to be communicating in a language of only facial expressions) and was glad that we’d been able to corral them in time. They sure were a feisty pair.

Surprisingly, they came into the room without a scuffle, which was fortunate, because even at this desolate little motel on the edge of town, scuffles still drew crowds. And so did gunshots. Stretch, however, exhorted us to let them go, saying that we didn’t understand. Something tugged at my gut, and I looked at Reed askance. There was something off about these two.

We situated the two firmly on both beds, each secured with one wrist handcuffed to the headboard, and then decided to congregate outside for a much-needed team meeting. There was only one door and the only other way of getting out of the room was by climbing through either of the windows, through both of which I was to watch our captives with a watchful and suspicious eye.

“Alright, Stretch. TG.” I nodded to both of them in turn, using their nicknames by accident. Stretch raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Really?” and TG just looked confused and very curious.

“S-s-sorry,” I stumbled. “I mean- er-” I stopped and realized that I didn’t remember their fake names and I didn’t know their real ones, so I had nothing to call them. Regardless, I plowed through. “We’ll be outside for a bit.”

“Don’t try anything,” Reed warned, flashing a sneak-peek of the gun tucked into his waistband. Reed had barely closed the door before my thoughts came tumbling out of my mouth.

“There is something definitely up with those two.”

“Agreed,” Reed said, shoving a hand in the pocket of his pants and leaning against the window frame. He ran the other hand over his buzzed blonde stubs of hair, squishing his forehead down in the process.

“Do you think they could be….” I trailed off.

He looked at them through the glass. They were talking to each other, Stretch’s brow furrowed in concern and TG’s eyes squeezed tightly closed, trying to get over his massive headache.

“They definitely fit the M.O.” I drew my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through my contacts. Settling on one, I held it up.

“I’m gonna call ‘im.” Reed rolled his eyes and turned to go back towards the door. “He’s the only one who might be able to tell us if they are or not.”

“Alright, if you have to,” he sighed. “I’ll be inside.” He opened the door and I could hear him trying to initiate some awkward form of conversation before the door closed behind him. I smiled and clicked the 'Dial’ button, pressing the phone up to my ear. He picked up on the the third ring.

“Hey, Chickadee!” he greeted me happily and I shook my head, a grin spreading across my face. “What’s shakin?”

“Garth, I thought I told you not to call me that.”

“Oh, right.” There was a long pause, an awkward silence in fact.

“Hey, we’ve caught up to that vamp’s nest up in Spokane and are tracking their movements as we speak.”

“Fantastic!”

“You did say the details of this hunt haven’t hit the papers yet, right?”

“Mhm.”

“And that you’re the only one who knows about it?”

“Yepper-do.”

“Hmmm,” I hummed, pacing in front of the windows. I stopped and looked at the scene inside. Reed was talking to Stretch and TG, they seemed more relaxed now. My eyes flit back and forth between the two strangers. I noticed that they shared similar mannerisms, that they had an uncanny way of communicating with each other without saying anything, and even made some of the same facial expressions. It was almost as if they were related….  
My stomach sank as I finally put two and two together.

“Another question for you, Garth,” I continued evenly. “Where are the Winchesters right now?” There was a pause and I could here Garth pressing buttons on the other end, no doubt tracking them by GPS. The system took awhile to scan for them and pinpoint their position, but it wasn’t long before I heard a beep to indicate where the brothers were.

“…balls!”

I raised my arms in exasperation, wielding the phone away from my ear while I cursed under my breath. Garth is the goofiest guy you could ever meet, especially with a job like we have. Reed and I are hunters. Not the kind that shoot deer and pheasants for the heck of it; more like people that kill monsters. Anything from a shadow that shouldn’t be there to a demon with a big agenda to exterminate the human race: you name it, we’ll gank it. Ghostbusters without the fame, cheesy ghosts, and humor.

Anyway, when a bunch of people are running around hunting monsters, trying to keep up the pretense that there is nothing wrong, you need a guy that sort of organizes things. He informs you of available hunts, is the FBI, police department, even health department if you need to verify an alias and, in general, anchors the whole hunting cause. That guy used to be Bobby Singer, a crabby old drunkard that was like an uncle to me. But now, the responsibility fell on Garth’s shoulders. It was rough in the beginning (because Garth, frankly, is an idiot), but he got the hang of it after awhile. Until now.

“Damn it, Garth!” I fumed, glancing at the two brothers inside with a new reverence. “Why the hell did you tell the Winchesters about this case when you knew we were already on it?!” I could hear Garth mumbling to himself through the receiver and could tell he was as confused as I was.

“I… I went out to the bar, after talking with you and Reed, to celebrate the success of my last hunt,” he began slowly. Realization laced his voice and I could tell that he was piecing together what might have happened that night as he went along. “And… you know what I’m like: one shot and I’m drunk as a skunk.” He sighed. “They must have called me after I’d gotten hammered. I swear, I don’t remember a thing.”

“Goodbye, Garth.” I hung up before he could respond. Replacing my phone in my pocket, I walked over and lay my back against the door. I put my head in my hands, in a position I liked to call a double facepalm. This was gonna be awkward.

The freakin’ Winchesters. Why did Garth have to be such a lightweight? He’d told us that we were the only ones who knew about this case other than him. Otherwise, I would have thought twice about finding two guys who looked suspiciously like “the world’s sexiest hunters,” to quote Carver Edlund’s books (even though I’ve definitely never read them. Psh!). And add to that us beating them up and handcuffing them to our motel beds! I exhaled. We were in pretty deep here.

I grabbed the doorknob without turning around, deciding that I had to go back in eventually, and I might as well get this over with. Twisting my wrist, I swung the door, and my body, into the motel room. Reed was organizing some papers on the table in the corner, Stretch/taller Winchester watched him suspiciously, and TG/shorter Winchester appeared to be dozing. Upon my entrance, all of them turned to stare at me, TG with an especial amount of contempt.

“Hi,” I greeted them all nervously, wriggling my fingers in a hesitant wave and flashing a crooked smile. Reed raised his eyebrows to which I responded with a slight inclination of my head. He rolled his eyes, knowing full well the capacity of our mistake and also that it was probably Garth’s fault. It didn’t take much for Reed to be annoyed with Garth, he “didn’t have any time to associate with incompetent people,” as he always said.

Sliding a set of keys out of my pocket, I walked over and unlocked TG’s handcuffs cautiously, seeing as how he looked like he wanted to murder me.

“If looks could kill,” Reed muttered open-endedly. His tone was light and joking, but he kept a hand poised over his gun, just in case. He was always tense, even if there was no reason to be. I meandered around the bed to unlock the other Winchester’s wrists. He rolled them around, regaining circulation. I pulled a chair up at the foot of the beds, nodding to Reed to do the same. He did so without question and once he was seated I continued. I leaned forward and interlaced my fingers.

“I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some explanations!

"Sam. Dean." I began, using their respective names. The looks I received were incredulous, as expected. I introduced myself and my partner, Reed McCollum, and drew in a breath before I continued. "We're both hunters." Sam's brow crease deepened, which seemed impossible until that point. He appeared to be processing how to react as he rubbed angrily at the imprints left by Reed's handcuffs. Dean inhaled deeply, shaking his head.

"You mean to tell us," he began in a low voice, "that you grabbed us, dragged us back to your crappy motel room, and held us hostage all because of a little "misunderstanding."

"It's not like we meant to!" I blurted defensively. 

"And you just expect us to go, 'Oopsy daisy! Guess you'll get it right next time?!?'" Dean was all sass right now, nearly yelling in my face.

"Maybe if you guys would have butted out of our hunt, we wouldn't be in this situation." Reed was usually an amiable guy, but he got real protective real fast when anyone tried to   
be rude to me. "Garth is the reason we're both on this hunt, so you might as well be pissed off at him." Sam rolled his eyes and leaned back to rest his head against the wall.

"Of course," he murmured in a biting undertone. Dean muttered an "S.O.B." under his breath, cursing the day that Garth ever thought he could organize anything.

"But that still doesn't explain why you guys jumped us," Sam said thoughtfully, "if you knew there were other hunters on the case."

"We thought we were the only ones Garth told about the hunt," I explained. I rubbed the spot on my knee where Dean had kicked me, twitching at the twinge of pain that shot up my leg. Of course, Dean took notice and smirked smugly. "We thought you guys were vamps at first, and then we thought you could be not-so-innocent civilians." 

"Fortunately for you guys," Reed added, "we didn't shoot first, ask questions later." There was a pause in the conversation as the brothers exchanged a confused look. 

"Hold up, did you say "vampires?" Dean asked, pointing at me.

"Yeah...?" Reed answered slowly. "Why were you guys in there?"

"We were about to gank the ghost of Edith Harrisburg," Sam replied, a frustration hidden in the subtext of his voice. "Now, who knows what happened, who it might have killed!" Reed and I exchanged a look.

"It wasn't a ghost," I said calmly. Dean snorted. 

"I beg to differ."

"Did you guys not read the diary pages of Mrs. Harrisburg?" Sam countered, his voice rising. "She wrote that she 'feared for her life' three days before her date of death on the coroner's report. It's basically written in blood!" Apparently Garth had neglected to tell them the small detail about the ghost actually being a pack of vamps.

"Do you know where she was killed?" I asked, one eyebrow cocked. 

"Near Seattle," Dean answered. He was looking at me with the most condescending look in his eyes, making me feel like a little girl who'd just done something wrong. Little did he know, he didn't have all of the information. 

"Good!" Reed encouraged him as if talking to a kindergartener. "She'd packed up everything and planned to run away from her husband. She'd made arrangements to stay with family up in Canada, but her husband caught up to her as she got off the train." 

"We know how the story goes," Dean brushed Reed off. "Her hubby caught up to her, knifed her, and cut her body up into little pieces." He rolled his eyes. "Ain't it a coincidence that all the vics were killed the same way?" The way he was so sarcastic and snotty when he thought he knew everything was so very amusing to me.

"George Harrisburg was admitted to the Washington State Penitentiary four months after the murder," I continued the story. "The house was soon after repossessed by the bank. All of the furniture was moved out and the house underwent a deep cleaning, yet no one bought it because of all the lore surrounding the place."

"Lore that just so happens to be a real live ghost," Sam interjected impatiently. 

"Lore that anyone could latch on to and make it seem like it's a ghost," Reed corrected. "Namely a nest of vamps." There was a pause as the two brothers sat back and thought about it. The empty house was a popular spot to go late on Friday nights. College boys would drag in their girlfriends as a cheap way to seem manly and maybe get a make-out session if they were lucky. I rolled my eyes just thinking about the whole thing. Sometimes people are so stupid.

Anyway, the whole thing was a perfect set-up for the vamps. All they had to do was grab a couple kids every so often, drain out all the blood they wanted, then cut up the bodies in accordance with the lore and place them in the house months later for the cops to find. It was a brilliant plan, really. 

"So... you guys should actually be thanking us," Reed added smugly. "You would have been hunched over your little maps, looking for a non-existent ghost when those vamps would have found you. And what would you have had to fight them off?" He smirked. "A lighter, a piece of iron and some table salt."

"We don't go anywhere without guns and knives," Sam muttered defensively. He had an elbow on his knee and he was dragging a hand over his face relentlessly, as if that could rub off his embarrassed expression.

"But the element of surprise is an unpredictable factor," I mused. These guys were legends and we just potentially saved their hides from getting hijacked by a pack of vamps. I suppressed a smile. What I thought was going to be an awkward situation had actually ended up working better than I had expected. 

The Winchesters, on the other hand, looked less than happy to have been so completely deceived by a bunch of monsters, and to be informed of that fact by the people who beat them up. 

"How do you know their not nabbing someone right now?" Dean was uncomfortably tapping his knee up and down, glaring at me when I caught his eye. He was itching to blow this popsicle stand.

"By now, they would have already dropped off the... remains," Reed stated, checking his watch, "and already be back at their nest."

"And their nest is where?" 

"We don't know," I replied with a shrug. "We just got here yesterday."

"When I was down at the Spokane PD," Sam thought aloud, "the Sheriff told me about a family that just moved into a farm on the outskirts of town not that long ago." He looked up at his brother, raising his eyebrows. "How much you wanna bet that's where the nest is?"

"Let's go check it out," Dean exclaimed, anxious for an excuse to get out of here. He stood up from the bed with a burst of energy. The sudden movement was faster than his concussed skull could handle, however, and he began to topple forward.

"Woah, woah, woah," tumbled from my mouth as I jumped up, grabbing an arm and a fistful of his shirt before he could knock himself out on the bedside table. "Easy there, tiger. I don't think your going anywhere tonight." My knee complained about all the extra weight that I was now supporting, but I ignored it, helping the older Winchester sit back down on the bed.

"When did you guys get into town?" Reed inquired.

"About 10:00 this morning," Sam replied.

"Have you even been to a motel yet?" The taller Winchester shook his head.

"Not until this one," he said, smiling weakly. Dean blinked rapidly and opened his eyes wide a couple of times. I watched him attentively, two fingers pressed to his wrist. The adrenaline coursing through his veins pounded against my fingertips, but not too irregularly to be concerned. Finally taking notice that I was the one who'd caught him, Dean pulled his arm out of my grasp and shot me a look of contempt. I smirked. He'd be fine. I went back to sit in my chair, knowing full well that he was grateful, even if he didn't look like it.

"I think that you guys should just stay here for the night," I suggested. "I mean you don't have your car, and we did give you guys an extra bruise or two." Dean chuckled bitterly and Sam's mouth twitched again. I looked at Reed and he nodded. The ex-marine was used to sleeping on the ground. Most nights I'd wake up to find that he had grabbed a pillow and moved to the floor. Old habits die hard, I guess. And, as for me, my dad loved camping, and we always went when I as little. So, sleeping on the ground wasn't the worst thing. It almost reminded me of home.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked awkwardly. His brother was already removing his shoes and getting into bed, too exhausted to do anything else.

"Yeah, it's fine," Reed reassured him, getting up and moving to the sink to get ready for bed. "We don't mind at all." Despite us insisting, Sam still sat there awkwardly, unsure exactly how he felt about this.

"Do you want the bed?" Sam looked at me. It was a half-hearted offer. I could tell how badly he wanted to just collapse and saw logs without a care in the world. It was a sweet gesture, but I just chuckled.

"That's alright," I assured him. "As long as I get a pillow." Sam complied, handing me a square pillow from his bed as I snatched one out from under Dean for Reed.

"Plus, I can't have people going around saying I slept in a bed where a handcuffed stranger was there minutes earlier." I clucked my tongue, grabbing some clothes to sleep in out of my bag. "After all," I added over my shoulder, "I have a reputation to uphold." I gave Sam an exaggerated wink, and headed to the bathroom to change. 

The younger Winchester relaxed after that and settled in to the motel bed for the night. I lightly touched Reed's shoulder on my way into the bathroom and he gave me a foamy, toothpasty smile in return. I laughed quietly and closed the door behind me.  
As I stripped down, letting my clothes drop on to the cheap tile floor, I recapped my day in my mind. What had started out as a normal hunt had quickly escalated into the most awkward situation ever, thanks to Garth. I'd hoped to meet the Winchesters eventually, but I never in a million years had I pictured it happening like this. Of course, I was way too klutzy to make an entrance as smoothly as most characters did in Carver Edlund's books. I didn't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't introducing myself with concussion and a fake FBI badge.

Yet, the Winchesters hadn't made the most seamless entrance into my story either. Reed and I had taken 'em down without a much of a problem, and they'd been wrong about what monster was to blame for the death toll here in town. It was almost like they'd been beaten at their own game. They've been Winchestered, I thought to myself, tugging a shirt on over my head and chuckling. This was gonna make a great story someday.


End file.
